That’s when it hits me. I pull out my notebook and jot down the only thing I’ve been able to think of.
“Have you been waiting long?” His deep voice pulls my attention upward. There’s suddenly a chill in the air. You could argue that the restaurant kicked on the air conditioning, but I’m seated on the patio, so it’s likely the chilly visage of my lunch companion.
Besides his text to meet him here for lunch today, we haven’t talked since JoAnna’s office on Monday morning. It’s perfectly normal, that’s more communication than we’ve had in the last two years, but the fact that my thoughts have been wandering to him at least a thousand times since Monday morning is highly problematic.
“Do you care if I’ve been waiting long or does your upbringing require you to ask?”
My snark rolls right off Barrett’s Italian designer suit. Meaning he ignores my dig and stands silent, yet confident until I respond in the manner he deems appropriate. I hate that I know him that well.
“No, I was working.”
“I prefer to sit inside,” he says, still standing.
“Said no one ever on a beautiful afternoon in June.”
Now it’s his turn to ignore me.
He nods to my list. Before I can shove it back in my bag, Barrett has it in his hands.
“You want me to attend the Books 4 Kids event,” he reads, dropping into the chair across from me. “That’s all? An appearance at a children’s charity book event? Easy. Done.”
I snatch the paper back, hating that my only request was so easily fulfilled.
“No, that’s not all,” I say defiantly, hoping I can come up with something else in the next five seconds. My mind goes blank. “Okay. That’s all I could think of off the top of my head. That’s because I don’t even know what my options are. It’s like going to an ice cream shop and they have the glass cases covered. I can pick chocolate because every ice cream shop has chocolate but I might be missing out on raspberry chocolate chunk cheesecake because I didn’t even know it was a possibility.”
“Raspberry chocolate chunk cheesecake,” he repeats. “Is that your favorite ice cream flavor?”
“No, I made it up. Or maybe it does exist, but I wouldn’t select it out of the case if it were there. It’s a metaphor for something more elaborate than basic chocolate. I’m more of a cookie dough fan.”
He wrinkles his nose.
“You hate cookie dough ice cream?” I ask.
“Never had it.”
“What?” I can’t even with this guy. But then again, am I really surprised? “You’re missing out.”
“Not likely.”
“Let me guess, you’re a vanilla kind of guy?”
“I don’t eat ice cream,” he responds. I nearly fall out of my seat with this discovery, but then again, maybe it makes sense.
“I think that’s worse than being vanilla guy. At least vanilla guy is in the game.”
“What game is that?” he asks.
“The ice cream eating game. Your ice cream flavor says a lot about your personality. Vanilla guy is classic, and confident in what he likes. Sometimes he adds sprinkles if he’s feeling wild, but mostly enjoys his ice cream in a cone because he likes to keep things simple.”
Barrett smirks. “Sounds like you know this vanilla guy pretty well.”
I don’t need to tell Barrett about any guys that I do or do not know. Vanilla or not. We’re in a fake relationship so my sex life, or lack thereof, is not of his concern.
I busy myself with putting my laptop away, but now it’s just me and Barrett, staring at each other from across the table. Barrett’s doing that thing again where he’s obnoxiously quiet, yet completely comfortable. It makes me want to jump out of my chair. Where is that waiter?
“So, you want me to uncover the cases?” he says, finally.
“Yes.” I nod, pleased that my ice cream analogy was well received. “Pull back the paper and get out the tasting spoons.”
Barrett eyes me for a minute, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I’ve got an idea.”
He reaches for the paper which I continue to hold tight to. Barrett lifts his brows.
“Please?” He extends his hand.
Manners. What a treat. I finally hand it over.
Barrett uncaps his pen, then places the cap on the end. Why that simple movement makes my legs start to shake is unexplainable. Or completely obvious. It’s the same reaction I had when he signed the fundraiser check in his office last week.